online legislative database. He searched for “Recommit to Civil Service and Pensions Act,” and a link was produced to State Finance Law § 307. Under section 52, subsection F, sub-subsection 3, he found what he was looking for:
(3) Defense to liability claims.
Legal indemnification against liability claims that should result from i) acts of God or ii) acts of war shall be assumed by any person or incorporated agency that holds legal title to a Group B building with a permitted occupancy of two hundred or more persons, provided that he/she has made a reasonable, good faith effort to protect his/her building from said circumstances through substantial investment in precautionary measures, or services thereof.
Mitchell closed his laptop and then his eyes. He was asleep within minutes, a deep, rich sleep. He hadn’t slept so well in months—no cockroaches, no nightmares of flashing steel and glass, just milky oblivion.
* * *
The next morning Mitchell called in sick for the first time in his professional career. He removed from his wallet the business card with the line drawing of the open window, and he decided to jump out of it.
Charnoble picked up in the middle of the first ring.
“I wondered when you would call.”
He offered Mitchell eleven thousand dollars to start the next morning. The check would arrive in less than an hour by messenger. (Mitchell considered asking that a copy be sent to Sandy Sherman, but then his survival instinct set in.) Charnoble didn’t try to hide his relief on the phone. “We’ve had a number of applications but there was no one with the right mix of technical knowledge and personal despair.”
As soon as Mitchell hung up the room became very dark. What had he done? Had he gone insane ? Was this, finally, the path that had been chosen for him: madness? He’d shown a talent for it in the past, he would admit that, a flair for madness, but he never believed it was his true calling. He tried Charnoble again. But this time, as in a nightmare, the phone rang and rang. No answering machine. He looked again at the business card, made sure he had the right number, and dialed again. Still no answer. He had a picture of Charnoble hunched over the phone, his eyes wide, watching it ring, cackling uncontrollably.
But all things considered, wasn’t it a greater risk to remain at Fitzsimmons? An eternity in E and V—that was a risk he couldn’t take. Better to start at FutureWorld and quit if things went badly rather than return to Fitzsimmons and E and V. F—E—V : if you squinted, it almost spelled FOREVER.
He called his parents.
“FutureWorld? Isn’t that a village in Walt Disney?” said Rikki.
“In Budapest,” said Tibor, “there was a social committee called the Future World. Their job was to assassinate nationalistic journalists. Sorry—torture first, then assassinate. I promised myself never to speak of the thing they did to my friend Laszlo. You think you can trust a business with that name?”
“It is a dopey name, FutureWorld. But I’m glad you’ve found something that excites you.”
“Poor Laszlo. He was never the same man once they were done with him. If, after such an experience, you could even call him a man.”
Mitchell took a deep breath.
“I’m being paid eleven thousand dollars today and sixteen thousand dollars a month. That’s before incentives and bonuses kick in. It may increase when we take on more clients.”
“‘Yippie-kay-yay, motherfucker,’” said Tibor.
“Tibor!” said Rikki.
“ Die Hard , starring a certain Mr. Bruce Willis.”
Mitchell hung up the phone and looked around his apartment, as if for the first time. He had never given much thought to its appearance before—after work he tended to rumble directly to his bed and tip over like a felled tree. And he rarely saw the place by daylight. Not that it admitted daylight. He had only a single, grime-coated window in the living room, which faced the ramp leading from
(3) Defense to liability claims.
Legal indemnification against liability claims that should result from i) acts of God or ii) acts of war shall be assumed by any person or incorporated agency that holds legal title to a Group B building with a permitted occupancy of two hundred or more persons, provided that he/she has made a reasonable, good faith effort to protect his/her building from said circumstances through substantial investment in precautionary measures, or services thereof.
Mitchell closed his laptop and then his eyes. He was asleep within minutes, a deep, rich sleep. He hadn’t slept so well in months—no cockroaches, no nightmares of flashing steel and glass, just milky oblivion.
* * *
The next morning Mitchell called in sick for the first time in his professional career. He removed from his wallet the business card with the line drawing of the open window, and he decided to jump out of it.
Charnoble picked up in the middle of the first ring.
“I wondered when you would call.”
He offered Mitchell eleven thousand dollars to start the next morning. The check would arrive in less than an hour by messenger. (Mitchell considered asking that a copy be sent to Sandy Sherman, but then his survival instinct set in.) Charnoble didn’t try to hide his relief on the phone. “We’ve had a number of applications but there was no one with the right mix of technical knowledge and personal despair.”
As soon as Mitchell hung up the room became very dark. What had he done? Had he gone insane ? Was this, finally, the path that had been chosen for him: madness? He’d shown a talent for it in the past, he would admit that, a flair for madness, but he never believed it was his true calling. He tried Charnoble again. But this time, as in a nightmare, the phone rang and rang. No answering machine. He looked again at the business card, made sure he had the right number, and dialed again. Still no answer. He had a picture of Charnoble hunched over the phone, his eyes wide, watching it ring, cackling uncontrollably.
But all things considered, wasn’t it a greater risk to remain at Fitzsimmons? An eternity in E and V—that was a risk he couldn’t take. Better to start at FutureWorld and quit if things went badly rather than return to Fitzsimmons and E and V. F—E—V : if you squinted, it almost spelled FOREVER.
He called his parents.
“FutureWorld? Isn’t that a village in Walt Disney?” said Rikki.
“In Budapest,” said Tibor, “there was a social committee called the Future World. Their job was to assassinate nationalistic journalists. Sorry—torture first, then assassinate. I promised myself never to speak of the thing they did to my friend Laszlo. You think you can trust a business with that name?”
“It is a dopey name, FutureWorld. But I’m glad you’ve found something that excites you.”
“Poor Laszlo. He was never the same man once they were done with him. If, after such an experience, you could even call him a man.”
Mitchell took a deep breath.
“I’m being paid eleven thousand dollars today and sixteen thousand dollars a month. That’s before incentives and bonuses kick in. It may increase when we take on more clients.”
“‘Yippie-kay-yay, motherfucker,’” said Tibor.
“Tibor!” said Rikki.
“ Die Hard , starring a certain Mr. Bruce Willis.”
Mitchell hung up the phone and looked around his apartment, as if for the first time. He had never given much thought to its appearance before—after work he tended to rumble directly to his bed and tip over like a felled tree. And he rarely saw the place by daylight. Not that it admitted daylight. He had only a single, grime-coated window in the living room, which faced the ramp leading from
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